


Deadly Revenge

by Brentinator, Stardust16



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Anaphylaxis, Comedy, F/M, Fainting, Family, Friendship, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sick Peter Parker, Vomiting, also it’s late, and I still don’t know how to work tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 03:45:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13286304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brentinator/pseuds/Brentinator, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stardust16/pseuds/Stardust16
Summary: ... A story in which Ned (probably) loses his wallet, Michelle (kind of?) has her first kiss (with someone who's unconscious), and Peter goes into anaphylaxis.(Or, I'm not good at summaries.)





	Deadly Revenge

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Deadly Revenge](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/349173) by Brentinator. 



> So... it's late and I’m tired and sleep deprived, but let’s do this anyway, okay?!
> 
> Now, this is a story by one of my best friends, Brentinator. She's a great person and a really great writer, which is why I'm reposting it. The link to the original story is listed below, but I figure I should let you guys know that she let me fix it up a little bit (I have photographic evidence), so that may be why it's a bit different.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Here's the link:  
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12774952/1/Deadly-Revenge

Peter didn't like to admit that just because he healed faster and got sick less due to the radioactive spider bite, that one annoying issue didn't go away.

And, it wasn't acne, or bad hair days, or the faint scar above his eyebrow that he received from a fight with Flash in middle school (which ended with him getting his head smashed on a badminton racket and Flash getting detention). Those he could deal with, and ignore easily.

The thing that forever ruined his life when he was in middle school, and left him reading labels every time he went shopping, asking for special orders at fast food places, and having to stop hanging out with one of his best friends cause she always had one of the products with her at all times, was an allergy.

Peter Parker had a peanut allergy.

And it wasn't one if those allergies that, if he was exposed to said item, he would just be sneezing, coughing or suffering from a sore throat. No, instead, it was one of those allergies that could kill him and cause his throat to close up.

The worst part, however, was having to avoid most—if not all—the snacks that were passed out during decathlon practice, and the weird looks he got from the other kids—with, of course, the exception of Ned (since he was with him when he first went into anaphylaxis) and Michelle, who probably dug through his records, or didn't really care.

It wasn't like he was at practice most of the time, however, as he was normally fighting crime or helping Tony out at the tower... which was what he was talking about now.

"What do you mean you don't need me at the tower at all this month?" Peter asked the billionaire through his phone, as he continued putting his books into his bag, while partially looking for his epipen. He never took that stupid thing out of his backpack, where could it have gone?

"I mean that I'm gonna be at meetings in London all month, and, therefore, I will be working on Avengers business, so you get to be a normal kid for a month. Go to school, don't get hurt, listen to your overly attractive aunt, don't wind up in jail, all that good stuff."

Peter fake gagged at Mr. Stark's attraction towards his aunt, before entering his closet to look for the epipen. As he did, though, some clothes from his top shelf fell down on him and, as he pressed the phone on to his shoulder, he also tried to avoid the avalanche of laundry. "But I'm not a normal teenager!" He argued. "I'm Spider-Man, I have stuff to do!"

"Not for this month you don't. I don't want you going out skydiving—"

"Web slinging," Peter mumbled under his breath.

"—Or something when I'm not around and I'm the only person who can get to you. Plus, with all the decrease in crime recently, you shouldn't need to go out and save people when the police have jobs for a reason. Got it?"

"But—"

_"Got it?"_

Peter only sighed as he pushed his way out of the closet and started to dig through the wastebasket. "Got it," He agreed, defeatedly. "Now, you need anything else? Because I've got school in half an hour and if I'm late again, Aunt May will kill me—figuratively."

Peter could practically hear the billionaire's smirk from over the phone. "Glad you felt the need to clarify that, kid."

Peter rolled his eyes as he set the phone down in his bed and put it on speaker, beginning to pull on his ratty, old runners. They were pretty worn out, but weren't necessarily falling apart just yet, so he assumed they were safe to use until they actually got ruined. "Yeah, yeah," He joked. "I got to get going now though, so..."

"'Course, kid. Just remember to be safe, 'kay?"

"Please," Peter scoffed. "When am I not safe?"

"... _Anyway_ , I'm not gonna answer that because I think we both know the answer to it and, if you don't, you should. I'll see you in a month and try not to get into any trouble while I'm away, okay?"

"Alright." Peter nodded, as he finished typing up his laces and, taking the phone off speaker, held it up to his ear. "But I make no promises."

"Wait, _what?_ "

"Bye Mr. Stark!" Hurriedly hanging up the phone, Peter hang up on the man—whoops?— and dropped it on to the floor, while he began to look under his bed for the epipen. Moving an old shirt aside (Since when was he into Star Trek? Everyone knew Star Wars was the best!), he dug his hand deeper but stopped and sighed when he didn't find the small medical device.

"Peter!" The teen suddenly heard from behind his bedroom door, as he pressed the home button on his phone and almost got blinded by the flashlight. "You're gonna miss the bus if you don't get a move on! Come on, kiddo!"

"Sorry, Aunt May!" He immediately called back, as he turned off his phone flashlight and banged his head on the bottom of his bed, thanks to standing up too fast. "Coming!"

Casting a glance at his watch, the teen had then grabbed his backpack and swung it over his shoulder before heading out the door. So, he didn't find his epipen, but what did it matter? He didn't need it, anyway, and it wasn't like he was going to... right?

 

 

 

"Which kind of mutation does _not_  usually change the length of a chromosome?" Mr. Harrington read off the final question to Peter, Michelle, Ned and the others, with a couple confused looks and zero response.

After a few minutes, he sighed, putting the cards on the table, and looking at the teenagers with a slight look of disapproval, but mainly confusion. "Guys." He ran a hand through his hair. "You need to memorize the list of questions I give you, or we'll lose the competition on Friday. Okay?"

"It's Wednesday," Flash deadpanned. "We still have two days to go."

"I know," the teacher agreed. "But, this is our first competition since Liz left and I want us to be ready. Everyone got that?"

In response, the teens only nodded, as Abraham, Cindy and Flash started packing up their stuff into their backpacks.

"Alright." Mr. Harrington nodded as he began to pack up the papers and flash cards (which, oddly enough, Flash made) into a folder. "Practice's over. Michelle, work on creating some questions to go over for the bus ride on Friday, and if any of you want to grab a snack before you leave, be my guest. I'll see you all tomorrow."

Peter watched MJ give him a thumbs up out of the corner of his eye, but immediately snapped back to the fact that he hadn't eaten since lunch, and he was a teenage boy with a fast metabolism, so... automatically hungry.

He quickly grabbed a napkin and piled at least three cookies on it (three was his favourite number), before grabbing a fourth and popping it into his mouth.

"Hey, Peter?" He heard Michelle's voice from behind him.

"Yeah?" He responded with a mouth full of cookie, trying to present himself neatly. Unfortunately for him, though, a scrawny teenage boy in a decathlon uniform with cookies in his mouth wasn't exactly picture perfect.

"Decathlon practice. Me, you, and Ned, tomorrow night at five."

"Alright." Peter wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "I'll be there."

"Whatever." Michelle rolled her eyes and walked out of the auditorium when Peter, before putting the next cookie in his mouth and swallowing it, felt a strange sensation. Shrugging it off, the teen took off his backpack and was beginning to make sure he had everything in it, when a sick sound erupted from his stomach, leading him to place an arm around it, as well as near his neck. Not only that, but his throat felt like it was being constricted—closing up, almost—and he was suddenly itchy, along with being nauseous.

"Dude, you okay?" Ned then asked quietly as he put his hand on Peter's shoulder, ready to go to his locker to search for the spare epipen. He'd been with his best friend during his first anaphylactic reaction and memorized all the symptoms in case it ever happened again. And, judging by the look of pain on Peter's face, along with the the strange sounds leaving his best friend's abdomen and echoing throughout the auditorium, it seemed like it _was_ happening again.

"Yeah, man," Peter only insisted, as he straightened up and started walking out of the building and towards the parking lot, despite the headache that he had. "Fine." He figured he could always lie down, though, and take some ibuprofen at home.

Heading outside, the teenager had then started looking for his aunt's car, but stopped and grabbed on to the railing to regain his balance. Suddenly finding his feet came with extreme difficulty, and the superhero pressed his hands against his stomach and over his mouth, before his lunch came up and his guts expelled on the ground.

Meanwhile, Michelle was getting into her dad's car, when she heard the sudden retching break the silence. Whipping her head around, she was shocked to see Peter heaving over the railing, looking like he was about to pass out.

"I'll be right back, Dad," She stated.

"Michelle," Her father only started. "No, we need to get home—"

But, Michelle wasn't listening as she closed the car door, and ran over to Peter, rubbing a hand on his back and brushing his bangs away from his face. Feeling him shake under her hand, though, only worried her more as he continued to empty his belly out on the sidewalk, before his stomach gurgled, making him burp.

"Peter?" She asked, quietly, once she thought he was done throwing up. "What's going on? What's happening?"

Opening his mouth, the teen intended to answer, but didn't; because, as soon as he did, he started puking on the pavement. Cutting himself off right in the middle of it, the superhero had then tried to swallow the rest of the sour acid coming out of his mouth, against his abdomens wishes, and whispered "F-F-Feeling sick..." before his knees buckled out from under him.

"Peter!" She instantly screamed, kneeling beside him as she grabbed his hands, which were starting to break out in hives, and pulled him into her lap. Squirming in the girl's grip, the boy groaned, as his stomach gurgled and he let out another burp, before clutching his belly.

"C-Call..." He rasped, before his eyes rolled back and he fell unconscious in her arms. Vomit stained his lips, as his body went limp, and Michelle turned the teen on his side to release the excess stomach acid he tried to swallow back, as some was still swishing around in his mouth.

"Dad!" She immediately called to her father figure, who, upon seeing what was happening, closed the car door and ran towards the two. "Call an ambulance!"

Then, instead of panicking, which she desperately, oh-so-desperately wanted to do, she turned the teen over on his back and dug through his jacket and jeans' pockets (Why did he have so many? She only had one!), trying to find his phone. After seconds of doing so, she immediately swiped to the lock screen, before glancing at the medical ID.

"Peanut allergy," She whispered, before thinking back to the events that took place earlier. Peter almost never showed up to decathlon practice (despite Flash's attempts to kick him off the team, Mr. Harrington refused to, saying Peter was the best chance they had in the physics department and that Flash needed an alternate, since they were all matched by intelligence), and the one time he had, he was having an allergic reaction.

 _'And those cookies,'_ She thought. Flash bragged about how he went to school early that morning and bought them from a bakery nearby, since they were having a sale on pastries with peanuts and were rumoured to have been imported from Italy.

 _'Flash,'_ She then realized. He probably knew about Peter's allergy to them and, since he got in trouble two weeks ago (for what, she didn't know), he'd been sitting out as an alternate ever since... which, also explained why he was so eager to participate today.

She... was gonna _kill_ him.

That wasn't the point now, though. So, swiping back to the lock screen, which scanned her fingerprint (Peter gave both her and Ned access to his phone in case of emergencies a few weeks ago), she went to the 'Messages' section and began to call his aunt, only for the phone to ring with "Mr. Stark" as the contact. Remembering him talking to Ned about his internship, she assumed the billionaire could spread word of the life-threatening event, and answered instantaneously.

"Peter," She heard, putting the phone on speaker. "Why does the tracker say you're going into anaphylactic shock?"

"I'm not Peter, and because he is going into anaphylactic shock!" She immediately screeched, keeping her right hand on Peter's neck to feel his pulse, while she used her left one to squeeze his distended fingers. "Also, tracker?" She demanded. "What kind of business are you running there, Mr. Billionaire?"

"Doesn't matter right now. Is 911 on the way?"

"Yeah," Michelle replied, as she cast a glance back at her dad. Pacing back and forth, he was reciting something to someone on the phone, just a few feet away from them. "My dad's calling them right now, but I need you tell his aunt, May. I don't know where she is, but—"

"She probably won't be happy about her nephew going into anaphylaxis, and nobody telling her about it; yeah, I got it. Is Ned Leeds there? Please tell me he's there."

"Uh..." At this, Michelle looked around the area, but didn't spot the 'Guy in the Chair' anywhere. Then, looking down at Peter, she noticed his lips were beginning to puff up, and immediately rearranged her grip on him, while another weird rumbling noise ran through his abdomen, reminding her to hurry up the conversation. "No, not at the moment," She answered, at last. "Why? Is he—"

"He's important, yes. I need you to go find him, there's a possibility he has Peter's spare epipen."

"But what about—"

"I'll call his aunt," Mr. Stark ordered. "Go!"

"Okay, okay, I'm going, I'm going!" Turning off the phone, Michelle had then turned to her dad, who was kneeling beside them by now, and looked at him straight in the eyes. "I need you to stay here with Peter," She commanded, her tone strong and confident. "His friend might have his epipen, I have to go and get it—"

"Of course." Her dad instantly nodded in understanding, as he watched his daughter; she acted so mature while in a situation like this, he couldn't help but feel proud of her. "Go, I'll stay here with him," He replied, looking at the sick kid. "Go find his friend!"

"Thanks." Michelle had then nodded in response, before she placed a quick kiss on Peter's unusually sweaty forehead. Moving aside, the decathlon captain then let her dad take over and watched as he balanced Peter's head in his lap the same way she did just minutes before. "I'll be back." She gave Peter's swollen hand a quick squeeze, before she stood up and took off into the school.

Then, bolting into the second parking lot, she stopped momentarily to catch her breath, with her hands on her knees, before she saw Ned was still waiting there for his mom. Flash, however, was also there, but she decided not to go after him, as she needed Ned— _desperately_.

"Ned!" The decathlon captain shouted, tapping said person on the shoulder so he'd swing off his backpack. "Take off your backpack!" She demanded.

"What? Why, what's going on?" Ned questioned, but nonetheless did as she said. Shrugging off his backpack, he watched as the decathlon captain started tossing his things behind her, on to the sidewalk. "Hey!" He protested in defence when his wallet was thrown up in the air and landed a few feet away from the two. "I need—"

"I don't care! Peter's having an anaphylactic reaction and needs his epipen!" She yelled, as she set some textbooks aside before pulling out the spare medical device. Upon hearing said statement, Flash looked over at the two, with a small smirk being placed on his face, before going back to texting whoever he was messaging.

"What?! Is he—" As Michelle turned on her heels and raced through the hallways of said school, she could tell Ned was following along behind her. She couldn't necessarily blame him though, she'd be freaked out if her best friend was going into anaphylaxis too.

"Dad!" Racing through the doors of the front entrance, Michelle had then stopped when she reached the stairs and instantly planted herself by Peter. Her dad was still balancing the the boy's head in his lap, gripping his fingers as he whispered something along the lines of "Hold on, son," into teen's ear. From behind her, she could hear Ned mutter a small "Oh my gosh..." at his best friend's bloated abdomen and body but that didn't matter right now. She could focus on Ned's reasonable reaction later, now she needed to focus on Peter.

Fumbling to get the small medical device out of her deep pockets, she had then hurriedly took it out, uncapped it, and, under Ned's directions, jabbed it into Peter's thigh, pressing the black part down. Holding the tiny needle in for twelve seconds, she had then stopped and screwed the cap back on, before handing it back to the other teenager behind her.

Her and her dad had then switched places once more, and as Michelle adjusted the anaphylactic superhero in her arms, she could hear the sound of sirens in the distance. Tears start streaming down her face as Peter groans, his head lolling against her chest, as his stomach lets out another uncomfortable grumble, but otherwise that's it; he doesn't respond, he doesn't even open his eyes, he just... he just _breathes_ , and that's all she needs.

"Somebody order an ambulance?" She then hears from behind her, and immediately releases a sigh of relief. Peter's softly snatched from her grasp, his body unmoving but his heart beating, as he's lifted into the EMTs arms and set on the stretcher. _'And he's going to be okay,'_ She thinks, as she grabs hold of his things and hops into the ambulance with him. _'He's going to be alright.'_

 

 

It takes four hours for him to get to Peter. Decathlon practice takes two, ending at five, and the kid's been in the hospital since the same time, so, by the time he gets there, it's nine.

When he gets there, though, there's not much going on—not that he expects there to be on a Wednesday, anyway. But the hospital's totally empty, with the exception of a single man, on his phone, and a teenager who comes out of the elevator, with curly brown hair and tears twinkling in her eyes. Relief is on her face, though, as she walks out of the area and approaches the man who—he figures—must be her dad.

"Hey Dad." Her voice is quivering, as she speaks, and it's loud enough to not need super hearing. The man, with black hair and the same shade eyes as hers, stands up when he sees her, tucking his phone into his pocket. "I'm just going to get a drink of water," She says with a deep breath.

"Alright, bookworm." The man wraps his arms around her, his daughter, embracing her in his arms. Then, slowly, he lets go of her and treats her as if she's glass about to shatter. "I'll be in the car, okay?" He says, as he places a hand on her shoulder and holds his jacket with the other one. "Just come when you're all cleaned up."

And, then, as her dad walks away and starts heading out towards the car, he can actually get a better look at this—this girl. Sure, she was crying before—nobody has to be a genius to know that—but now he can actually _see_ that. He can actually see her red, watery eyes and he can actually see that she's heading over to him.

It's completely unexpected, at first, but he goes with it anyway. It's not like he's not used to people seeing him and taking pictures, or asking questions, so he thinks nothing of it. That is, of course, until this teenager starts talking.

"Hey there, Mr. Billionaire." This part catches his attention. The second part just keeps it. "I was just with Parker."

And now his attention is fully focused on her. He wasn't listening, or didn't care before, but now he is and now he does. "You're the girl who picked up his phone," He states, with a look of worry placed on his face. "Is he okay?"

The girl, though, just shrugs and places her hands in her pockets. "Yeah," She replies. "He's fine. I mean, he's still kind of out of it, because of all the drugs they gave him, and they want him to stay overnight for observation, but Dr. Davidson said he's okay and awake, so I _assume_ he's telling the truth..."

"Alright." He nods. "Thanks—"

"Michelle," She says, as the only people who call her MJ are her friends.

"Thanks, Michelle," He responds with a tone filled with both gratitude and relief. Running a hand through his hair, he then adds, "I don't know what I'd did, if—" before cutting himself off. "I mean..." He clears his throat. "You saved his life," He says, saving himself from showing too emotion. "Thank you."

"Eh." She just shrugs. "Don't mention it." Then, as she heads towards the automatic exit, he heads towards the hallway, but stops at the last second when he hears her speak again. "Seriously," She says, before she turns on her heels and leaves. "Don't mention it, okay? I don't like seeing the people I tolera—hate, have anaphylactic attacks."

And that's the end of that. Their conversation's done, over, end of discussion (literally) and, as soon as it is, he heads down the hallway, looking for the room his kid is resting in. Luckily, it doesn't take too long, and he delivers two soft knocks as soon as he finds it.

There's no answer, though.

But, then, he suddenly remembers what Michelle said and opens the door anyway, breathing in relief at the sight he sees. Peter's propped up on three, maybe four, pillows with an IV in his arm, along with blankets set against his waist and a nasal cannula wrapped around his face, but he's fine. He's fine, and he's smiling.

"Hey Underoos," He then greets, snapping the teen out of his trance. Sitting on the bed, he then watches as the superhero sets his phone on the nightstand he has (which is also holding his clothes and backpack). "I heard you had an anaphylactic attack. You doing okay?" He asks.

"Huh? Yeah, of course." At this, Peter sits up a little straighter and smiles a little brighter, though it isn't as real as it could be. "I'm awesome," He answers immediately, stumbling over his words a bit. "Why, um, why do you ask?"

Tony isn't the one for jokes, though. In fact, he isn't even buying it. "Because you just had an allergic reaction and went into an anaphylactic attack," He deadpans. "Seriously," He repeats. "How are you feeling, Peter?"

And, this time, Peter's answer is different, way more so than it was the first time. "Honestly?" He admits, fidgeting with the hospital bracelet around his wrist. "I'm exhausted," He says, smiling tiredly. "I mean..." His voice cracks and, by now, there are tears in his eyes. "I-I thought I was gonna die..."

Now, Tony's never been good with emotions; that's something anybody knows, that they don't have to be a genius to figure out. But, when Peter breaks and his facade shatters like glass, so does his cover.

"Kid," He instantly mutters. Sighing softly, he pulls the superhero close and thanks the Greek gods when he doesn't let go (Peter's been really into the Percy Jackson books lately, for some weird reason that he knows nothing of). "Listen to me," He says, stopping the teenager from soaking his shoulder in sobs as he looks directly into his eyes. "I'd never let you die without trying to save your life. And that's a promise, alright?"

But Peter only nods, too exhausted and too tired to say anything, as more tears form in his eyes from previous fear. Saving the kid from saying anything more, or from _shattering_ even more, he pulls him close again and slowly smooths back his hair as his sobs turn to sniffles.

He isn't really all that sure how long they still like this, but knows it must be for quite a while. Or, at least, he assumes it is when his shoulder is no longer being streaked with tears and he can hear Peter's soft snores in his ear.

"Kid?" He then whispers.

Of course, he doesn't get any response, but that doesn't mean he was expecting one. The kid really wasn't kidding, though, he realizes, when he said he was exhausted. Not that he thought he _was_ , but the kid's usually like a puppy—so excited and upbeat—so it's kind of weird (and slightly worrying) to see him not be.

But, he doesn't really have time to analyze that because the kid needs his sleep, and he needs to call May, anyway, to let her know that her nephew's okay.

So, he does just that. Releasing the sleeping teen from his arms, he lays Peter back down in the bed, and brings the blankets up to his chest, so he can actually get some rest.

Smoothing his hair back once more, he then turns off the nightstand lamp and stands, whispering a small "Night, Underoos," before leaving the room.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that's the end. Hope you guys liked it, and, if so, leave us little comment below. 
> 
> (Remember; this isn't my original work, it is reposted and is originally written by Brentinator. All I did was edit it.)
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


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